


quarter past midnight

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Background Shiro/Adam, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, keith is mortal, lance is an ocean god, not much angst tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “The ocean can be a dangerous place if you’re not careful,” the stranger comments with an unintelligible gleam in his eyes.“Thanks for the tip,” Keith snaps, “I’ll try not to drown next time--which was your fault, by the way.”(where Lance is an ocean god and Keith has always been connected to him)





	quarter past midnight

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for two months and wanted to post it before the end of July/near Lance's birthday... despite the fic being more Keith centric lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy:)

 

It’s a quarter past midnight when Keith finds himself walking further and further into the ocean. Waves lovingly lap up against his bare legs, spreading gooseflesh across his body upon contact. Once Keith stops, the whole lower half of his body is submerged, his toes now completely numb and his legs tingle, soon to follow.

For a May day, the night air is predictably cold and a silent breeze rips through his long hair in its attempt to say hello. The stars are out, shining bright as if not having a care in the world, but it’s the full moon that commands the night’s attention. Hanging in the center of the night sky, it illuminates Keith in a silvery, ethereal glow but does not have enough power to reveal what’s hidden in the blackness of the water.   

“I hate my life!” Keith hollers to the air as he flings his arms out wide, eyes closed and body prone to anybody’s mercy.

“Oh, and why’s that?” asks a voice from behind.

Completely startled, Keith turns in fright only to find that the waves have cruel intentions to throw him off balance, rushing around him as his whole body goes under when he trips. It’s hard to breathe at first, every ounce of air escaping from his lungs when he drinks half the ocean. Dark spots dance at the edge of his vision; his arms and legs flutter frantically as he tries to swim up towards the surface. Strong arms encircle Keith’s waist and suddenly he pops up, sputtering and coughing as he regains the ability to breathe.

“F-fuck, that’s _freezing_.” Keith wiggles in the stranger’s embrace, his wet clothes and hair plastering to his skin.

He soon discovers that a man, presumably his age, holds him tight--a very _attractive_ man. Short, chocolate waves fall onto the man’s forehead and frame his face, and his dark skin is dusted with faint freckles. They pepper his nose and cheekbones like paint splatters. Everything about this man, from his perfect features to his surprisingly comforting aura, captivates Keith. But in the end, the man’s eyes, an electric, lightning blue, are undoubtedly the prettiest things he has ever seen.

“The ocean can be a dangerous place if you’re not careful,” the stranger comments with an unintelligible gleam in those eyes.

“Thanks for the tip,” Keith snaps, “I’ll try not to drown next time--which was your fault, by the way.”

“Pssh,” the man waves away Keith’s comment as they continue to tread water, making their way to shore, “I just forgot that you mortals are too easily frightened.”

“Are you drunk?”

“What?”

Keith searches the man’s surprised expression, trying to find any indication of intoxication. “Either that or you’re a fucking lunatic. No one _says_ things like that.”

Squeaking in outrage, the man quickly regains his composure to throw a menacing glare Keith’s way. “I am a _god_.”

Once they reach the beach, they practically throw themselves onto the sand; it sticks to every part of Keith’s soaked body, grains intertwining with his long locks and he knows how annoying that will be to deal with later. The salt from the water coats his skin in a second later. Keith feels gross, but the one enjoyment to all of this misery is the rage the stranger exhibits beside him--though somehow he still looks flawless, even with sand sticking to his cheekbones.

“Hahaha, okay cool, you’re drunk and I’m leaving,” Keith says, finally picking himself out of the sand. He’s about five steps away when he stops again.

“You never answered my question,” the man observes, his gaze shy as he stares at the ocean and not at Keith.

“Huh?” Keith doesn’t turn around, eyes focusing on the sand dunes hiding the town from view.

“Your life, why do you hate it?”

The softness of the man’s tone surprises Keith enough to indulge him with a response. “Why do you care?”

When Keith finally turns, he discovers that the man is staring at him now, staring _into_ him. “You come into my ocean and say those words and you expect me not to be curious?”

“You’re a strange person, but maybe next time,” Keith finds himself promising.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Blue eyes invade Keith’s thoughts from now until the end of his days.

* * *

 

When Keith dreams, he dreams of the ocean. He always has. His five year old imagination would bring him on a journey full of pirates and sea monsters, eventually waking to the smell of bacon and his father’s gruff voice singing one of the overplayed pop hits on the radio.

His father had been a strong man, his large hands often lifting Keith onto his shoulders to give him a better view, and there had been a scar across his left eyebrow--one of the only details Keith retains as he grows up. The color of his father’s eyes, the way he smiled, and his laugh have all but disappeared from his memory, leaving him with an empty shell of an image that he calls dad.

One memory never disappeared though.

Electric blue specks dot the water, the ocean glowing with an unnaturally beautiful light. It mesmerizes five year old Keith as the sea mirrors the night sky above. Late at night, Keith and his father are the only ones on the beach. Everything is perfect, and he hangs onto every sound, every wave crash and every word his father breathes.  

“Bioluminescence creates this phenomenon,” his father explains, and to Keith, this man is the smartest person he’s ever known--he brags to all his stuffed animals.  

“Bioluma--luma-nes--” Keith struggles with the new word before becoming distracted, peering at the water’s surface. He bends down, his knees creating two perfect indents in the hard packed sand, and his chubby hands slowly slide into the water. The cool liquid washes over his skin; his hands are outlined in that blue glow and a gleeful smile stretches wide across his face. He stares at his father through his bangs.

“You’re going to be an explorer one day, Keith, I can feel it. You’re going to discover something spectacular,” is what his father tells him as he drags Keith away from the ocean and onto his shoulders.

Keith grips his father’s hair for support and can only bounce in agreement, his mind already wondering what he could possibly find in those murky depths.

A week later his father leaves for a quick research mission out in the Atlantic Ocean, and then he doesn’t come back. A few days pass before the news reaches their little hometown by the ocean--something equally confusing about a hurricane and a shipwreck and drowned scientists. Five year old Keith doesn’t understand these words--he imagines a sea monster instead, taking his father’s life for not complying with its demands. That image doesn’t help him fall asleep any quicker.

It only takes a few more days after the funeral for him to be carted off to his first foster home--the family lives in the city, too many miles away from the ocean for late night walks on the beach. They live in a place where light pollution destroys the sky, and he can’t look up at the stars and pretend his father does the same somewhere else in the world.

This family is loud and obnoxious and nothing like the quaint town he had know all his life, nothing like the quiet strength of the ocean and the soft sound of the waves brushing against the sand. No seagulls squawk over head. Keith has to deal with the sound of engines and honking horns and old tires skidding against the pavement.

With nothing to help him sleep any longer, he shuts his eyes and stares at the thick darkness behind his lids.

Those dreams of the ocean have now turned into nightmares.

* * *

 

As dawn strikes the dusky sky, they meet again.

Sand wacks into the back of Keith’s legs as he jogs across the beach. His feet fight to find traction on the loose ground, but having run this route for years and years, he’s more sure footed here on the sand than he is on pavement and back in reality. A breeze rippling across the water’s surface wraps around him, fluttering his clothes and hair, which has been tied into a ponytail that bounces against the back of his neck with every step he takes.

He almost bumps into a person but stops short just in time, preventing the collision. The stranger doesn’t even acknowledge the accident that almost occurred, quite content with staring at the ocean as his feet dig further into the dark, wet sand. Though his clothes are different--the man now wears a tank top and beige bermuda shorts--Keith immediately recognizes him from a few nights before.

The sun rays poke past the horizon, lighting the sky in a fiery gold.

“You again,” Keith breaks the thick silence, only slightly out of breath as he holds a hand against his stomach, fingers curling into his shirt.

This finally causes the man to turn, and once his eyes swiftly graze over Keith’s face, a glimmering smile slides across his lips. “I was wondering when you’d come back.”

“Wow, stalkerish much?”

Cocking his head in confusion, his brows furrow--it’s cute. “I don’t understand.”

Keith plops down in the sand, sliding his hands deep into the ground only for them to break through the surface again and have grains pool in his palms. “It means I’m a little creeped out right now.”

“Ah, that had not been my intention,” the man replies sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

Watching the man duck his head, ashamed of his actions, Keith finds himself patting the spot beside him in the sand, extending an invitation to join him. “So you just waited here like everyday this week?”

Slowly, the man shakes his head, a small smile flickering at his lips. “You’re not _that_ special--” yet he says it in a way that implies the total opposite “--this is my home, so of course I’m here every day.”

“Your home?” Keith questions, raising an eyebrow. He swings his gaze around the beach; there’s not a cabin in sight.

“The ocean.”

Sputtering slightly, Keith attempts to regain some composure though he continues to gawk at the man. “Are you drunk _again_?”

Laughter spills from the man’s lips. “Trust me, I’m not drunk.”

“You haven’t even told me your name,” Keith easily points out, “How can I possibly trust you?”

“I could say the same about you,” the stranger retorts but leaves no room for Keith to interject, “I’ve had many names. Call me Lance.”

“Alright, _Lance_ , I’m Keith.”

“A pleasure.”

Those eyes are still captivating and Keith unabashedly stares at them, remembering their glow from a few nights before but now they hold a normal hue, though just as beautiful. Suddenly, Keith finds himself drumming his fingers on his thigh, nibbling on his lip because of the riciulous question he is about to ask. “So that night… did you really mean it when you said you were a _god_?”

“Of course. I found it’s best not to lie about trivial matters like that.” Keith mouths the word ‘trivial’ in disbelief as Lance soldiers on. “So are you going to run away and call me a lunatic again?”

“I didn’t run,” Keith finds himself correcting Lance, “It was a casual walk. But either way, I’ve decided to believe you because why not.”

“How kind,” Lance teases.

A frown sits on Keith’s lips as he ponders on the subject a little while longer. “I just hope you’re not a figment of my imagination.”

Not that he’s ever hallucinated like this before and he’s almost ninety-nine percent certain he is not trapped in a dream--he’s too hot and sweaty, and the rising sun pains his eyes with its bright glare--but could this man really be a being he’s only read about in mythology?

“I’m real,” Lance promises with a brief nod of his head.

“That’s not very convincing; any hallucination could say that.”

Brows rising and mouth gaping, Lance has to shake his head in disbelief. “I thought you believed me!”

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I believe you’re _real_ ,” Keith says, staring at Lance as if expecting him to disappear at any moment and leave Keith alone and very concerned about his own sanity.

“That literally makes no sense,” he mumbles and then silence lingers for a moment. At first, Keith thinks that Lance is going to kiss him, having leaned closer and closer, but instead, something soft grazes his cheek and he finds Lance’s fingers gently brushing away an eyelash. “Is this real enough for you?” His breath washes over Keith’s skin; it’s warm. The eyelash balances on Lance’s finger as he holds it closer to Keith. “Don’t humans make wishes on these things?”

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice is quiet, hesitant almost, with Lance’s face still an inch from his own. “But those wishes never come true. It’s pointless.”

“You’re strange for a mortal, very pessimistic,” Lance concludes with a bright smile as if he just won the lottery.

“Thank you; I take pride in my uniqueness.”

Lance laughs, finally moving out of Keith’s personal space. His lips stretch so wide that Keith is afraid they’ll break, but impossibly they don’t, and his eyes refract the morning light. The sounds echo across the beach, skipping over the water. Keith begins to chuckle, caught up in this ecstasy.  

The eyelash is left forgotten, having already been carried away by the wind.

When their combined laughter fades to a memory, Keith’s curiosity begins to override his brain, and he shifts a little closer Lance. “So you’re like the god of the ocean or something?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Can you do water tricks?” Keith continues, a smirk twitching at his lips.

“ _Tricks!_?” Lance’s outrage flares as his hair practically stands on the end, and his skin visibly prickles. “I can raise a tsunami with a flick of my hand and you talk like I can only do pallor tricks.”

“Excuse me, it’s not like I’ve ever met a god before,” Keith replies back.

Accepting the response, a subtle smile winds its way onto Lance’s face. “Hmm, alright, maybe I’ll show you some other time.”

“What’s wrong with right now?” Keith coaxes him with a grin. “Too chicken?”

With a shake of his head, Lance says, “There are too many people around.” For the first time Keith realizes how late it has gotten. Families are now peppered across the beach with their towels and chairs and coolers; suffers float in the water, waiting for their first big wave. All of this had gone unnoticed. “I’d rather not reveal my existence to everyone.”

 _And yet you told me, why?_ goes unspoken, the thought disappearing quickly from Keith’s mind. “You better think of something spectacular for next time; I wanna be impressed.”

“Anything for you,” Lance declares. After a moment, with the sea breeze whipping at his hair, creating a natural windswept look, he remembers. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten.”

“I know.” Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Keith returns to staring at the ocean, captured by its alluring sound.

He’s not sure he has an answer anymore.

* * *

 

When he steps off the schoolbus, Keith makes a split second decision not to walk back to that house but to go on a journey instead. He still has his uneaten snack in his backpack--that he had stolen from a vending machine in school, his arm skinny enough to slip in and out without getting stuck. Of course the snacks on the bottom row were less than exciting--crackers, nuts, and a granola bar--but he’ll make do.

In the four years since his father died, he has moved foster homes three times. In the four years since his father died, Keith had cried after a particularly brutal night terror--only to be bullied for it the next morning by the older boy who shared his room, and he never allowed himself to cry again. In the four years since his father died, Keith has only smiled once.

As Keith hesitantly steps into the bus terminal, his foster father's credit card cuts into the soft flesh of his palm. The beep of the machine causes him to jump, and his free hand clutches a strap of his backpack to stop himself from shaking. As Keith grabs his ticket, the young employee pays him no mind as Keith is forced to move along, other passengers walking up behind him.

Public transportation in the late fall is hell. College students fill up most of the seats, headphones dangling from their ears, phones clutched tightly in their hands, and some even scribble away in a notebook as a textbook rests on their lap. Some older folks sit up front, grocery bags next to them, but they smell like too much perfume or cologne. Keith can’t help but wrinkle his nose as he passes, making his way to the far back of the bus.

Keith knows that as soon as he had stepped on, he sealed his fate, adding to his growing total of new families. He’ll be experiencing foster home number five and he can’t lie and say he’s disappointed. His only hope is that this new one will have less children crammed into the limited space. Usually, these wishes never come true.

In the back of the bus, the fabric cushion holds a dark stain that has Keith’s lips twisting into a scowl. He sits anyways, head leaning against the window to get lost in his thoughts.

 

A salty breeze bats Keith in the face the minute he leaves the bus; it tangles with his hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He begins his trek. The town’s graveyard is first on his list, taking the familiar gravel path to a grassy, hilly area. Hopping the short wooden fence, Keith lands with a soft thud on the packed dirt, speed walking to an area of short gravestones that reach his knees. The further he walks, the more hesitant his movements become until he stands under a leafless tree and before his father’s empty grave. Weeds have sprouted up all around the base of the gravestone; dirt fills the carved words, causing his father’s name to vanish into the stone. Part of him--a part that tickles at his senses, subtly forcing his mind to slow from its frantic, erratic thoughts--wants to stop, to clean the grave site and mourn one last time.

Staring at the overgrown wreck, Keith mumbles, “You’re not really here anyways,” and continues onward.

Walking through the town--it’s quiet, and nostalgia drowns him--and passing through some sand dunes, a few crabs skittering around, ducking in and out again, Keith can’t help but throw his arms out wide, breathing in the salty air. Seagulls announce his presence.

The ocean, equally Keith’s comfort and source of all nightmares, looms before him. It disappears over the horizon, never ending. Being in the only place he can truly be connected to his father, he can’t help it when all his memories of his shortened childhood come roaring back. The time when he first learned to swim, when he wished on his first shooting star, when he made his first sandcastle kingdom, all of this happening with his father by his side. Since he’s been gone, Keith can’t recall one worthwhile memory he has made. They’re all muddled with the routine of city life and not having that one on one contact with a parental figure… or a friend.  

Falling to his knees, hands smacking the sand, tears fall from his eyes as the ocean sparkles before him. He wants to scream but he’s lost his voice.

In that moment, Keith would have sworn that a hand rested on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his skin as his heart rate calmed down. As he grows, that memory can no longer be trusted for when he turned back to thank the person, no one was there.

* * *

 

“So you were just born a god or…?” Keith asks as he climbs over a cropping of rocks, balancing perfectly on their slippery surfaces.

It’s been a month since they first met, sharing daily chats on the beach as the sun rises, and yet this question has only left his tongue now. It’s midday most likely--the sun is hot, unrelenting, a pulsing beacon in the center of the sky. A few clouds linger in the blue expanse, but their wispiness does little to provide shade.  

Lance wades in the water beside him. “I was mortal once. Born and raised in Cuba but before the land had been given that name.”

“You look good for your age,” Keith cracks a smile. The sun catches onto Lance’s frizzing hair--even he is not impervious to the humidity a hot summer’s day provides. Though, the heat doesn’t seem to bother him, unlike Keith who fans himself every few seconds.

“Thanks for noticing,” Lance replies with a laugh, watching his feet create ripples on the water’s surface. A few minos scurry away, trying to stay a couple feet ahead of the two. “The ocean is great for my skin.”

“Please,” Keith begins, quickly leaving no room for any argument. “I bet you were just as pretty as a mortal. Or is this just a form you take on as a deity?” There’s something completely natural about this man with his brown skin and freckles and breathtaking smile; he wears no masks; nothing hides his true appearance. His eyes though, those electric blue eyes, are probably the only things that have changed.

Lance gestures to his whole body. “This is the real me. This is how I looked when I was alive. But I do take on other forms, mostly whatever easily fits in with the current civilization or who the people perceive me as. Early, early on, I was female,” Lance continues offhandedly, “And the people called me Yemayá.”

Keith nods along to the new information, drinking in everything about this man and itching to know more--it’s like he’s starving. “So how’d you become one then?”

Lance remains silent, gathering his thoughts, before his shoulders stiffen. “My younger sister got caught in a whirlpool. I saved her by making an equivalent exchange, my life for hers. I guess the other higher beings saw something in me in that moment. Nothing was ever really explained to me after I woke up a deity; I even tried to go back to my family,” he chuckles at himself out of pity, “but they could no longer see me. I spent the first fifty or so years watching over them, making sure their children and grandchildren would always be safe in the ocean. Then the world changed and I found myself trying to capsize ships coming to wreck that paradise. But there had been too many of them and I was too inexperienced with my powers.”

Mirroring a long forgotten moment and returning the favor, Keith finds himself placing his hand on the wide expanse of Lance’s back, slowly rubbing patterns into his skin. “What happened to your people was not your fault.”

Lance leans into the touch, a grateful smile on his face as he says, “It took me a few centuries but somehow deep inside me, I finally accepted that. Even gods can’t control the minds or actions of men.” He releases a deep breath. “Thank you, Keith.”

“For what?” Keith asks bemused.

“I haven’t shared that story in a long time. It... it felt good.”

So much history to have lived through, it must weigh him down, permanently anchoring him to the past. “Well I’d love to hear about _all_ your experiences some day.”

Lance’s beaming, thankful smile is Keith’s reward.

In their travels--though Keith has a sense that Lance had been specifically leading them to this area--they find a place where a rocky cliff arches above them, creating an alcove away from the sun. It’s cooler in the shade, and as Keith settles down onto a rock platform a few inches above the water, he pulls his hair into a short ponytail, glad that his neck is finally able to breathe, and pins his bangs away from his face--he should have done this earlier.  

“You’re getting a little red there,” Lance comments as he presses a finger into Keith’s skin. As Keith slightly turns his head, he grimaces at the sight of his reddening shoulders in the shadows of the cave. When Lance lifts his finger, a patch of Keith’s skin, the size of a small oval, colors a sickly yellow paleness before the rose hue returns. He hopes his skin won’t start to peel later tonight.  

Keith flicks his eyes back up to Lance’s curious expression. “I may have forgotten sunscreen.”

“So fragile,” Lance mutters as he dips his hands into a tide pool. They’re completely surrounded by water when he lifts them out, the clear liquid acting like gloves. Gently, he presses into Keith’s skin once again; the water wraps around his sunburnt shoulders as it begins to glow, baby blue light shadowing the rock walls. Tension eases away from his muscles.

“Y-you can heal?” Keith sputters after Lance finishes, the water falling back to the ocean. He grabs at his now pale shoulders, unmarred by the harsh rays of the sun.

“I _told_ you I have powers. The ocean can’t be controlled, but I do my best by guiding it to do what it’s needed for,” Lance ends with a smirk.

Keith’s jaw remains dropped as he struggles to comprehend just who is sitting next to him--a person that could probably drown him with just a twitch of his finger, not even breaking a sweat. Composing himself, Keith places his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs and biting his bottom lip. After a moment, he asks, “So is this a good time to show me some of your other _tricks_?” A cheeky smile disturbs the quiet peace as he turns to look at Lance again.

“We’ll start with the small stuff. Don’t want to have your brain implode, do we?” At Keith’s scowl, Lance flicks a bit of water in his direction, splattering his face. Droplets land on his shirt, darkening the material to the effect of making a polka dot pattern.

Lance’s hand drifts back over the water’s surface and suddenly he pulls out a stream, shaping the ocean to his will. He creates figures that dance in the air--a person, a dog, a seagull. With the light streaming into the cave’s opening, the water sparkles, dazzling Keith. He can feel Lance studying his reaction, cataloguing every inch of his face, and soon a smile touches Lance’s lips as he adds more and more figures to the show, each one performing some intricate movement.

“The other deities are totally going to make fun of me,” Lance mutters off handedly, “Showing off my powers for a crush.”

His words break the spell. Keith immediately directs his gaze to Lance, the shapes dissolving into the air as they evaporate. “Oh, you’re not the supreme lord of the ocean then? How disappointing,” Keith teases with a smirk as Lance squawks.

 _Crush, he just said you’re his crush,_ Keith’s mind absentmindedly reels.

The frown that emerges on Lance’s face afterwards is troubling though. “I’m sorry that I’m not as great as Poseidon or whoever. I control the gulf and the Caribbean and I’m happy with my little section of the Earth.”  

Confirmation that other deities exist overload Keith’s mind for a moment but he allows the new knowledge to pass, focusing on the only god in front of him. “It’s called sarcasm, Lance. I think you’re very impressive.”

“I know what sarcasm is,” he pouts, bottom lip jutting out as he tries to defend himself. He picks his feet out of the water, crossing his legs as he repositions himself on the rock.

Keith easily finds his response, the words flowing seamlessly off his tongue. “I didn’t think God, or _gods_ for that matter, existed at all, and yet here one is in his full glory. How could I not be blown away by you? You’re amazing and beautiful and have the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

Lance eyes him warily. “You’re just saying that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

They lean closer together.

“No.”

A soft smile graces Keith’s lips. “Good, ‘cause I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

“More than alright,” Lance breathes.

Keith closes the gap.

It’s sloppy at first, both of them horribly out of practice, but then they find a rhythm as Lance’s hands lie flat on Keith’s back, dragging him closer, and Keith’s arms drape across the god’s shoulders. Lance’s lips are soft and taste of salt--Keith discovers that kissing Lance is like the ocean, both rough and gentle at the same time, but either way, you feel like you’re drowning.   

The ocean recedes back, as if Lance holds in his breath and the sea copies him. When they break apart, water tickles their bare feet when it comes rushing forward, released from its barricade.

Lance closes the gap the second time.

* * *

 

Iverson has an ugly face--it’s even uglier after Keith gives him a permanent swollen eye, but here he sits in Iverson’s office looking at his weathered face and harsh glare before that moment. Cuts and the inkling of a few bruises are littered across Keith’s face as he nurses his scraped knuckles, absentmindedly picking at the peeling skin.

The boys who had been in here before him--equally disheveled and probably looked worse than Keith, each sporting a black eye and split lip--were given detention. Keith expects the same outcome. Yet as Iverson leans back in his faux leather chair, the springs squeaking, and places his clasped hands on top of his chest, Keith swallows, fidgeting in the wooden chair.

He’d been placed in a boarding school, mainly for other orphan children who had a disciplinary record--out of sight, out of mind seems to be the system’s motto. To be honest, it isn’t a terrible place--the food is halfway decent and the beds are comfy--but Keith never felt at home here, always restless to be somewhere else. Always itching to be part of a fight that he didn’t belong in.

After a minute or two of silence, Iverson finally speaks. “I don’t understand what Shirogane saw in you.”

Keith’s best friend Shiro is currently away at grad school. As a senior, he had helped out in Keith’s eighth grade class as part of a Big Brother like program and took him under his wing, practically adopting Keith in every sense of the word except without the legal documentation. But that had lasted a year and a few months of the summer before Shiro went to college a couple hundred miles away. It had taken a few weeks of convincing Shiro to accept his dream school, not wanting to leave Keith behind, but Keith had insisted.

No one’s life should be put on hold just for him.

So now Keith is at the beginning of his senior year, just as alone as he was before Shiro popped into his life. They still keep in contact, almost speaking every day when Shiro’s at school and he visits during the summer, but it’s still not enough.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Keith practically spits, “I don’t know what goes on in Shiro’s head.”

 _Wrong thing to say_ , he unhelpfully thinks afterwards as he watches Iverson immediately lean forward, hands slamming on the desk. “That sarcasm of yours will get you nowhere in life, young man. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up dead before your twenty-first birthday.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way… _sir_.”

“You were Shirogane’s pet but any influence he’s had on you is gone now, isn’t it? Your just an orphan brat who never had any parents that loved him. You’re alone and you’ll _always_ be alone.”

A snap rings in Keith’s mind as he stands up forcefully, the chair clattering to the ground as it tips backwards. Without warning, he punches Iverson in the eye where swelling immediately begins, forcing the socket to close. Iverson stumbles back, clutching his face and wearing an ungodly expression.

Seething, a nasty grin winds its way onto Keith’s face. “I’m not going to apologize.”

 

“Hey, uhh, hi Shiro, I know you’re in your lab so you won’t see this until later. But I um, I just wanted to say that I got… expelled. Please don’t freak out, though I know that’s what you’ll be doing. I’m fine; I have a job at Starbucks and am gonna fix up the old cottage with the little money my dad left. There’s no need to come find me--I know you’re busy and it’s almost finals season--but if you’re wondering where I am, I’ll be… home. You know the place,” Keith finishes the call, listening to the click as he disconnects from the voice mail. His fingers twist into his long hair, and he tugs harshly, wanting to feel _something_.

Sighing, he digs his feet further into the loose sand, watching as the grains tumble over his skin, burying them. The ocean is relatively calm today, but the sky above swirls with graying clouds and the sea mimics the color. Keith finds himself drifting into a light sleep.

Only an hour later does his phone buzz.

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro’s voice comes through the speaker.

Immediately, Keith grits his teeth as he sits up, tightly squeezing his eyes closed. “Don’t say it; don’t say anything about it. You heard my message, I’m _fine_.”

“We can try to enroll you in another school. This doesn’t ha--”

“School was never my thing,” his voice cracks slightly, “I’m almost eighteen anyways and it’s not like I was going to be able to afford college.”

“Keith,” Shiro says again, his tone gentle, and Keith can almost imagine him sitting right here, a sturdy, grounding hand on his shoulder. “A high school diploma’s important.”

“Can’t you just let me make my own decisions for once? Even if I’m fucking up the rest of my life right now, at least it’s my choice.”

The sigh that comes from Shiro pains Keith more than it should. “Alright, but promise me if you ever find yourself struggling, just--just let me know. I’m here to help.”

“Sure,” Keith mumbles with no intention of maintaining that promise.

“I don’t have class tomorrow, and Adam’s out of town; I can come visit you… if you want.”

“I kinda just want to be alone right now.”

“Well if you change your mind….”

Despite everything, a small smile breaks through Keith’s solem exterior. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“No problem.”

The phone softly lands in the sand as Keith arches his head back. He screams; he screams until the seagulls fly away and the hermit crabs scuttle back in fear. He screams until his throat is raw and until his screams echo across the water even after he has finally closed his mouth.

Something tickles Keith’s bare feet and he looks down to see the tide rushing in, gently lapping at the soles of his feet as the water slowly crawls up the beach.

The ocean comforts him and he smiles.

* * *

 

Lance sits in the water and Keith sits directly across from him in the sand. Even in the afternoon, the beach is just as crowded as it was this morning. A kid runs behind Lance, accidentally splashing him and plastering his hair into his eyes.  

As Keith draws patterns into the wet sand, he asks, “You can leave the beach area, right?”

“I guess…” Lance starts, “I’ve never really had reason to before and definitely not in the last century.” Curiously, he raises an eyebrow. “...Why?”

“Well--” Keith shyly wrings his hand, his gaze lidded as he stares at Lance “--We always meet on the beach, but I thought maybe you’d like to see the town? I--I could show you around…”

“As in a date?” Lance interrupts, a smile brightening his features as he stands out of the water, droplets sliding down his bare chest.

“Yeah, a date,” Keith nods in confirmation, a bit of blush on his cheeks.

Snapping his fingers, Lance instantly wears a sleeveless, navy blue turtleneck shirt, clearly showcasing his beautiful arms, and a cargo jacket has been wrapped around the waist of his jeans. “Is this date worthy enough?”

“Yeah,” Keith licks his chapped lips, “Yeah it is.” He stares at his own beach shorts and holey tank top, sand clinging to his butt, and he cringes. “Let’s go to my place first.”

Lance holds out a hand that Keith greedily takes, fingers interlocking. Their shoulders bump as they walk together. Almost immediately, Lance’s blue eyes illuminate as they skirt over everything on the path to Keith’s cottage. His hands drift over blooming flowers, catching soft petals between his fingers, and soon he has a miniature boquete of three flowers in his hand that create a mass of whites and blues and purples. He holds out the small blue one with a yellow center, tucking it into Keith’s hair before Keith can protest.

Hesitantly, he touches the flower as Lance sends him a thumbs up and his reddening cheeks. Keith returns the favor just as quickly, picking out the purple flower and threads it through Lance’s short chestnut hair.

“There,” Keith says, “Now we match.”

Lance kisses him the minute they walk over the threshold. Caught off guard, Keith stumbles back into the wall, tripping over a few scattered books on the floor. He grips Lance’s shirt, pulling the man impossibly closer as he feels hands tangle in his long hair, inky strands falling against dark skin. The flower flutters to the ground.

“I gotta get dressed,” Keith mumbles into Lance’s skin.

“Your hair’s all sandy,” Lance replies instead, his lips trailing down the side of Keith’s neck.

“Mmm, and whose fault is that?”

Words rumble into Keith’s skin as he hears Lance quietly growl before he pops up. “Don’t blame me for your hairstyle choice. What did they used to call it… a, a mullet?” He flicks a hand through those black locks, and a teasing light flashes through his eyes.

“You love my hair, don’t deny it,” Keith whispers, his breath brushing past Lance’s ear as he playfully nips at his skin.

Lance coyly growls swooping down to place a kiss on Keith’s lips but he darts away, fancy footwork spinning him closer to his bedroom with a laugh. “ _Keeith!_ ” Lance whines after the shock of kissing air settles and quickly walks around the corner, eyes flickering around in search of Keith to enact his revenge.

“You know, kissing is usually reserved for the end of the date,” Keith comments as he stands in the doorway of the bathroom, fresh, clean clothes in hand. Lance leans on the opposite wall, calculating every move Keith makes.  

He raises an eyebrow. “Guess you’ll just have teach me all the normal customs then.”

“If you can handle it.”

“Oh--” suddenly Lance invades Keith’s space again, hands clasped behind his back and eyes narrowed “--I can handle _anything_.”

 

“Ooh, what’s that?!” Lance excitedly exclaims at every new passing thing he sees--from ATMs to motorcycles, even jumping every so often when someone honks their horn. Keith always has to bite the inside of his cheek, preventing a wide grin that would surely shatter him if he allowed it to form.

He would have thought that over the centuries Lance would have acclimated to modern life but apparently some new inventions had slipped past him. He only knew about the mortal world from beach goers after all, never having a reason to venture out beyond that. Until now.

They stop at an ice cream vendor first, and Lance practically plasters his face across the glass, licking his lips as he spies every flavor. “I always wanted to try this.”

 _Cute,_ Keith thinks, _he’s really cute._ “What flavor?” he readily asks as he pulls out his wallet, eyeing both the vendor and Lance at the same time.

Lance’s fingers dance while he tries to decide until he narrows in on a gallon containing a beige, almost vanilla looking, ice cream. “Mmm I like the look of that one.”

“One café con leche and one cookie dough please,” Keith tells the employee behind the counter, bills crinkling in his hand as he pays for their ice cream. Lance nods in excitement as he rocks on the heels of his feet.

Their ice cream begins to melt a minute after the cones rest in their hands. Lance’s tongue juts out, quickly licking up the drips creating a sticky mess on his fingers. Laughing at the spectacle, a splatter of cookie dough lands on Keith’s nose as he miss times his mouth, having been caught up in the sight before him.  

Lance stiffens at the sound, perking slightly as he turns to playfully glare at Keith, grinning wickedly. “You have a little something.” He taps Keith’s nose, wiping away the dab of ice cream, and licks his finger. “Hmm, that’s not bad either.”

A dark, crimson red blossoms on Keith’s pale cheeks. “Enjoying yourself?”

There’s a pop when Lance opens his mouth. “Very much.”

 

By the time it’s six o’clock, they had walked through the whole town, ending up on a road that can either lead back to the beach or to the cottage. Keith’s feet are practically rubbed raw in his shoes; they ache enough to be a constant reminder. Lance, on the other hand, remains a picture of perfect vibrance, and energy sparks across his skin. In the afternoon light, Keith’s breath is stolen as he unashamedly stares at the deity beside him.

When Keith is finally able to breathe again, having been prompted by Lance’s questioning expression, he bluntly says, “Am I the first mortal that has ever caught your attention?”

He still doesn’t understand why--why does a god care about him? But Keith can’t lie, he’s fallen… too fast and not fast enough.

“Someone’s feeling cocky today,” Lance smirks before answering, “You’re the first one in a long time, if that helps. There had been a girl many, many, many centuries ago, but that had only lasted a year before she was sent away to be married. Honestly, it’s hard to remember her face some days. As the years go by, I forget a little more each time.”

Keith turns solemn. “So you’ll forget all of this one day too? You’ll forget me?”

“Yes. That’s the curse of immortality. But if I learned anything from humans,” Lance whispers quietly, “It’s to live in the moment.” When Keith is silent, he finishes with, “If that’s a deal breaker, I understand.”

Keith leans in and places a chaste kiss on those soft lips. Slowly drawing back, he stares at Lance, hands cupping his face and thumbs gently brushing across his skin. “Lance, it’s been sixteen years since I felt this happy; I’m not going to throw it all away for a stupid reason like that.”   

“Really?” Surprisingly, Lance is actually shocked, eyes wide as his forehead rests against Keith’s, “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

A quiet smile silently sneaks up on Lance’s face. “I want you for forever.”

It isn’t possible, yet Keith finds himself repeating, “Forever,” and kisses Lance again, hands trailing into his hair.

He’s not certain how long they kiss--but their lips are swollen and a mark already blooms on Keith’s pale skin--but when they separate, arms still locked around one another, Keith begins to awkwardly sway. “D-do you want to maybe stay over... for a sleepover and a movie?”

“I have no idea what those things are but they sound wonderful.”

* * *

 

On his twenty-first birthday, Keith gets drunk.

It’s not a blackout drunk but he begins to feel slightly tipsy by his third drink and decides to nurse his fourth for the rest of evening.

He lost his job--again. Keith’s brash personality is terrible for any customer service job, including being a waiter or barista, and without any sort of diploma under his belt, he can’t find a decent job above minimum wage.

Though, he has broken down and started taking some night classes in order to complete his senior year of high school--four years too late and he finds himself struggling to get back into the rhythm of tests and essays, essays and tests.

Calling Shiro for help is an option Keith refuses to entertain. The man currently plans his wedding with Adam, and he doesn’t want to be a bother. Luckily, a mechanic position had opened up in one of the local repair shops, and having a bit of experience with cars and motorcycles, Keith hopes his application will be accepted.

He downs his fourth drink in one sip when someone catches his eye.

On his twenty-first birthday, Keith almost has a one night stand.

The man at the bar is attractive, close cropped, sandy hair and a few piercings in his ears. His tan skin shines under the bar lightning and his dark eyes lock with Keith’s. Though the man’s eyes hold nothing of interest to Keith, he finds himself walking over, empty glass sliding across the bar top. The stool creeks as he sits down, and the stranger smirks.   

They talk; Keith spews random nonsense as his thoughts step further and further away from reality. Yet, the man remains intrigued, a sultry expression easily appearing on his face. With his lips inches from the man’s own, Keith stops, something foul churning in his stomach as he stares at those emotionless eyes. “I can’t,” he says and flees.

On his twenty-first birthday, the smell of the ocean sobers Keith almost immediately, and almost drowning erases that remaining residue of alcohol in his system.  

And the voice that had accidentally caused him to fall ends up saving him in more ways than one.

* * *

 

It’s a quarter past midnight when Keith snuggles into Lance’s embrace, sitting between his legs on the beach. A full moon illuminates the night sky and the ocean waves below; ripples cut through the reflection of the moon. Lance’s chin rests on Keith’s head as he leans back against the deity’s chest.

More than two years have passed since their first meeting.

Keith can officially call himself a high school graduate and has even started attending night classes at the community college--he has found that marine biology captivates him more than he ever thought it would.

Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s body, lying his hands flat on his chest, and Keith plays with the silver band that breaks up Lance’s dark skin. It’s not an engagement ring, but a promise, a placeholder, for the future. The shock on Lance’s face could not have been masked when Keith presented the ring to him a few months ago, but the soft kisses Lance peppered his face with eased all of Keith’s worries.

“I love you,” Keith easily comments as if he has said it a hundred times before--he has.

“Mm, love you too,” Lance replies, nuzzling his face into the crook of Keith’s neck and hair. An ocean wraps around Keith, keeping him close. “Do you still hate your life?” is whispered into his ear; Lance’s eyes are a bright blue, and those words bring both of them back to a time long ago.  

“Not anymore. I haven’t for a long time.” It’s the most honest reply Keith can give.

He smiles and the ocean smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a little headcanon for this story that since Lance can change his appearance, as Keith grows older, Lance grows older with him so Keith never feels alone.
> 
> Some notes:  
> -This story is supposed to take place in Florida (but as I’ve only been to Florida when I was younger, pls ignore the inaccurate descriptions).  
> -I know Keith’s bday is in October but that doesn’t work with the timeline of the fic so yeah lmao.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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